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  Feb 2017 Irate Watcher
Evan Ponter
Asking the timepiece on my wrist
to dial the seconds back
so I could be sleeping in a bed
with our bodies back to back.

No I can't breathe
when the thought comes to me
of brittle bones that break into the sea.
The maps stuck in my pockets
drawing inches in the sand
recounting miles in the window seat
my hand melts in your hand.

I just want you
to smile
not for me
but for all the things we've discovered from the wind shaking the tress.

I can't believe in something more
when I can't believe in you and me.
Splitting moments with a scalpel
stitched spontaneity on my sleeve.

If hope is an expression of distance
it's my turn to turn my back.
When distance is what you hope for
it's your turn to turn right back.

And I just smile, and I just smile.
And I can't believe, no I can't breathe.
Irate Watcher Feb 2017
The old man with no luggage
wears a pilling houndstooth jacket
and suede fedora with a
leather strap and horse-bit buckle.
Stark seams line his trousers.

He has:

Wirey gray hair, calloused wrists,
a popped blood vessel neath his thumbnail,
and deep crevices in his palms.
He folds his boarding pass into a kite,
as he looks into the sun
through the tiny cube of a window.

He sees:

The geometric shadows
cast in early afternoon.
And skyscrapers.
They cut through the sprawling
grid like an artery.
I noticed this man on my way home from SF and I was struck by his character.
Irate Watcher Feb 2017
Chest tight as you depart
into the foggy grove:
A black speck dissolving
into forest green.
Sitting on a stump,
willing we cross paths,
again. Calm as dew.
Precipitation
cools a warmed heart.
Wrote this on my way to rainy SF :)
Irate Watcher Feb 2017
Silence
Lightness
Breaking Free
Twisted heavy heart
Reach into my soul and tear it out
The shaman
Tension release
Details in your watchful eyes
new process of being
Listening
Genuine concern
All yummy
It seduces me with faith
Moonrocks
Vagos
No problems
Beck
Radiohead
Jamorequi at your request
Most comfortable bed
More than just the week's tension
Themes not rhymes
Truth not games
Breaking through to 25
Growth accelerator
Your learned eyes
Whats behind them
Magician
Wizard man
Trying to figure it out ruins the high
I can see you fighting
Your putting your guards up
Tears at my slow pace
Not being able to catch up
Grasping for any thread of intimacy
I can find neath the cloak
of ****** favors
Not so naiive now
I was performing
An oriface of experience
Needing to be
Filled
Filled
Filled
Until naturally i exploded
Guards down but fighting back
Taken a night
to look at my self
Stream of consciousness exercise: It feels so good NOT to edit something for once.
Irate Watcher Feb 2017
I will listen to you muse all day,
closeted dreamer;
I want so badly for your dreams to come true;
I want so badly for you to be you;
I want so badly for happiness to fill you...
More than I want to fill your time,
Or your body,
Or your mind,
And while I may swallow and choke
at the thought of not getting to know...
Knowing you exist is enough.
  Jan 2017 Irate Watcher
Mary Oliver
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice—
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do—
determined to save
the only life you could save.
Irate Watcher Jan 2017
He said he loved my body;
then i felt satisfied.
We had only talked of fruit
all dinner for christ sake.
In his studio:
white walls; white sheets;
french romance novels
stacked beside
bright sneakers.
A shell; no story here -
just objects sorted in
nondescript piles.

Lizard kisses,
soft moans and
pathetic utterances;
chest puffed
neath my palms,
riding him half soft,
barely penetrating.
He fought his eyes open;
mesmerized.
I came bored and empty,
validated; ****,
waiting for him to come
and ask me to leave.
Instead we showered;
he was all over me,
after all.
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